Can I make a confession?
People often ask me how it was that I
went from being in show business—a sometime soap opera actor, radio
voice talent, and denizen of tiny Los Angeles theaters—to
being the pastor of a Lutheran church in Philadelphia. My
answer, of course, is God had different plans for me than I had for
myself. I think that's a pretty good answer. But, if I'm totally
honest, the real reason starts with the fact that my career as
an actor was in the toilet. I mean, after years of auditions, calls
to my agent, photos mailed to casting people, etcetera, etcetera, I
just wasn't getting anywhere. And what really sucked the most was the
more “no's” I heard, the more desperate and nervous I was
becoming. I got to a point where I was more afraid of failure than I
was excited about success. So I had to hang it up.
I guess that's why I love this parable
so much. It speaks to me in a very uncomfortable sort of way.
The gospel reading in the Lutheran
lectionary for the Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost (Matthew
25:14-30) paints an identifiable portrait of another hapless dufus.
The poor slob in this story is entrusted by his master with a
talent—in this sense, a sum of money which, in weight, was the
equivalent of twenty years' wages for the average working man of the
day. It's a lot of cash, and he doesn't want to lose it, so he buries
it in the earth until the boss gets back. Two of his co-workers, whom
the boss believes to be more gifted in investing, have been given
larger sums which they trade and invest and manage to double.
But the poor, gutless slob does nothing
with the wealth to which he is entrusted. He doesn't even put it in
the bank to earn a trifle of interest. When the boss comes back to
ask for an accounting, this pusillanimous employee digs up the cash,
proudly declaring that he hasn't lost a nickle. The boss goes into a
rage, calls the guy “wicked” and “lazy,” and promptly fires
him.
Now, for my part, it does seem a bit of
a stretch to make the boss in this story analogous with a merciful
and forgiving God. He's actually a bit more like a Donald Trump or
some other robber baron more concerned about the bottom line than the
welfare of his employees. Nevertheless, he points out a hard reality:
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If you fear failure more than you
desire success, you doom yourself to failure.
What's the lesson here for Christians?
Let's start with the talent with which we've been entrusted. I'd say
that this is the Gospel—the power to believe that a merciful
Creator God, made manifest in the suffering, forgiving, crucified and
risen Jesus Christ, can change our lives, give us courage, and create
a just and merciful world. That's a pretty darn big treasure with
which to be entrusted. So what do we do with it?
My fear is that we in the organized
Church are more afraid of losing what we have—a comfortable,
somewhat religiously-based social club (what Nadia Bolz-Weber would
call “the Elks Club with Communion”) than we are eager to invest
in the Gospel. After all, such an investment might require risk. We'd
have to be willing to change our thinking (sometimes called
“repentance.”), seek ministry opportunities with people unlike
ourselves, and devote ourselves to the cultivation of real
discipleship. Such an investment could cost our congregational
treasuries money or mean that we'd have to give up some of our free
time and miss an episode or two of the Real Housewives of Newark
in order to attend Bible study
or do some mission work. So we bury our treasure, cling to the status
quo, and watch our congregations go down like Custer at the Big Horn.
But in
Christ all things are possible. When my congregation first started a
non-traditional music format at our late service, we had a number of
volunteers to lead singing. I thought this was swell at first.
Unfortunately, many of these good folks, however much they liked to
sing, were more afraid of messing up than they were excited about
leading worship. They'd stand a toll call away from their
microphones, terrified that, if they hit a sour note, everyone in the
congregation would hear it. Their embarrassment and reluctance to
lead worship with praise and conviction made the whole congregation feel
uncomfortable rather than joyful to be in the house of the Lord.
Little
by little, however, things began to change. When one of our past
worship directors suggested that we put on a concert in which the
singers would actually be given solo parts, my reluctant Praise
Team—with fear and trembling—agreed to give it a try. To be
honest, we didn't sound all that great, but neither did we die of
mortified embarrassment. We made a joyful noise unto the Lord, and
from that moment on we've been slowly growing in confidence and
ability.
I
think this parable reminds us that we serve an awesome and powerful
God who can take the investment of our talents and use them to His
glory—if we're brave enough to trust Him. If all we desire is
institutional survival, then survival is the best we
will achieve. But if we are willing to take risks, to make the change form being church members to true disciples of Jesus, and commit to growing in the things of God, there is no
telling what we might achieve.
Don't
be afraid, my friend, of the wealth God has given you. Thanks for
stopping by.
No comments:
Post a Comment